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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26815231">press my luck</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohjustpeachy/pseuds/ohjustpeachy'>ohjustpeachy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Difference, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Fluff, M/M, Sick Tony Stark, Sickfic, Slice of Life, Tony Stark Needs a Hug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:29:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,964</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26815231</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohjustpeachy/pseuds/ohjustpeachy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>But... Steve is almost ten years his junior, and he could be with just about anyone, looking and acting like he does. And then there’s the not so small fact of Tony’s name and net worth and the fact that, okay, Tony had paid for Steve’s grad school tuition, and now he’s worried Steve feels obligated to stay. Or something.</p><p>Or, Tony is a billionaire, Steve is a grad student, and they learn to let themselves be taken care of.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Steve Rogers/Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>352</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>press my luck</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="">
  <p>For the first time maybe ever, Tony Stark is in over his head, and he knows it. That still doesn’t stop him though.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It’s just that once Steve Rogers came into his life, Tony very quickly couldn’t imagine it without him. Surely he’d managed thirty something years mostly on his own, finding the odd relationship here and there, but he can’t for the life of him remember how he’d done it before Steve.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Steve and his quiet smiles, and tentative touches, and the kind of endless <em>kindness</em> that made Tony feel like he was home no matter where they were. And really, he shouldn’t worry about it. Steve was with him, technically. They’re together. <em>Dating</em>. But... Steve is almost ten years his junior, and he could be with just about anyone, looking and acting like he does. And then there’s the not so small fact of Tony’s name and net worth and the fact that, okay, Tony had paid for Steve’s grad school tuition, and now he’s worried Steve feels obligated to stay. Or something.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He’s lost in his own thought spiral when there’s a light knock on his door. <em>Speak of the devil</em>. Tony smiles despite himself, and feels all the uncertainty drain from him when he finds Steve on the other side of the door with a bag in his hand.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hi,” Steve says, almost bashful now that Tony’s eyes are on him.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hi yourself. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Tony asks, because they didn’t have plans tonight, at least not that he knew about; he never forgets plans with Steve.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Steve lifts the bag and his smile grows. “I got us dinner from that Thai place you liked that time. Thought we could have a night in. If you’re busy, that’s fine too, I don’t have to stay, just wanted to surprise you,” he shrugs.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tony pretends to contemplate this. “Depends,” he teases. “Did you get—”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“The spicy soup?” Steve finishes for him, nodding. “Obviously.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tony grins. “In that case, come right in.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Steve follows him into his apartment. “Ah, I see how it is, I’m no better than a soup delivery guy.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Never,” Tony says. “And besides, dinner is usually my thing.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Steve’s half-listening, getting everything out of the bag and onto Tony’s coffee table, but his lips quirk up at this. “Doesn’t have to be, you know. I can take care of you, too, sometimes,” he says easily. Tony’s heart swoops, and he thinks momentarily of the texts he’d sent Steve earlier, about harried board members and skipped lunches, and how he’s here now, bringing him dinner like it’s nothing.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He feels warm all over.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Sure you can, baby boy,” Tony says with a wink and a smile, sitting himself beside Steve on the couch and wrapping an arm around him. Steve doesn’t hesitate before pulling Tony in closer, kissing him a few times, and then wrapping him in a hug so tight and warm that Tony can actually feel the tension ebbing out of him. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hungry?” Steve says eventually, a pleased little look on his face. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Starving.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>They eat on the couch, Tony listening as Steve recounts his day, his lectures, the one guy in the afternoon section who can never keep his mouth shut, all the little details, and Tony soaks it all in, doing his best to ignore the voice in his head that just keeps repeating: <em>I love him.</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It’s late by the time they finish eating, and Tony’s eyes are so heavy from the warmth and too much food and the best company he could wish for that he doesn’t even bat at eye when Steve presses a kiss to his cheek, and informs him he’ll take care of the dishes in the morning.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>**</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Just get them both,” Tony says the following weekend, as they browse the art supply store together for the millionth time. Not that he minds. If anything it’s the opposite; he could watch Steve fawn over fancy notebooks and pens for hours. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Steve makes a choked kind of noise behind him, and Tony laughs. “They’re a hundred bucks a pop, Tony, I don’t—” He’s cut off by Tony plucking them from his hand and placing them into the basket he’s holding for Steve, with the watercolors Steve also claims he doesn’t need. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Both,” Tony says again, smiling and winding his arm around Steve’s waist, letting him guide them around the store. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You seriously do <em>not</em> need to keep doing this, you know that right? I mean it,” Steve says, his voice going serious, that little crease between his eyebrows making an appearance. Tony reaches over, smoothing it away without a thought. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yes, I do know that,” Tony says, matching Steve’s serious tone as best he can. He <em>knows, </em>but that doesn’t mean he <em>won’t</em>. He doesn’t say it, though. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“People are going to think I’m only in this for the money if you keep it up,” Steve says. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tony’s chest tightens. “Oh,” he manages. “But you’re not,” Tony says, going for calm, but he knows how tight his throat feels, knows it probably comes out vaguely strangled. How many people had told him this, though? Promised they liked <em>Tony</em> not just the money he came with? Too many to count, and he’d never minded, not really anyway. At least, that’s what he told himself. But it’s different, with Steve. Tony would be devastated if he left, and he’s starting to let himself admit to it. It’s a small thing, but he’s gotta start somewhere. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Steve looks deeply affronted. “Of course not, Tony. I mean, the tuition thing was a life saver, seriously, I don’t think I can <em>ever</em> thank you enough for that, and you didn’t <em>need</em> to do it...”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tony nods. He thinks back to the day when he’d told Steve about the money, the look on his face, like he might actually cry tears of relief. He’d been working two and a half jobs at that point (a coffee shop, a pizza place, and a part-time dog walking gig), and Tony had hated to see how stressed out he constantly was. Paying for school had been nothing for Tony, a drop in the bucket, really, and the look on Steve’s face had made it more than worth it. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>God, of course Steve wasn’t like the others. Tony knows this, he<em> does</em>. It’s just hard to convince himself sometimes that the best relationship he’s ever had wouldn’t just slip through his fingers like so many others, crashing and burning and leaving him alone once again. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I promise I know,” Tony says quietly. He brushes a stray strand of gold-blond hair away from Steve’s forehead. “I like doing nice things for you, though.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Steve blows out a breath and smiles. “Yeah, okay, I just... It’s not like I can return the favor.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You’ don’t have to return the favor. You’re <em>you</em>, that’s enough,” Tony promises. “Now, come on, show me those pens you were talking about,” he says, taking Steve’s hand in his and following him through the store, satisfied. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>*</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tony wakes up on a beautiful Friday morning in mid-September feeling like his head is packed with cotton, his nose itching in a way that let him know he’s spend the better part of his day sniffling and sneezing on and off, no matter how much cold medicine he attempted to take. This happens like clock work every year, as soon as the weather started to change and fall started to roll in, Tony ended up with a cold that knocked him off his feet for a good few days. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>This was only the beginning, though, so he figures he can make it through the last day of the work week and then take the weekend to recuperate. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em>But</em>. He’d made reservations for dinner with Steve later tonight. They’d been wanting to try this new Japanese place that just opened, and Tony had called in a favor with the restaurant’s owner, an old friend from college who moved his name up the list. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Maybe he can make it through work <em>and</em> dinner and then become one with his couch. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>By the time lunchtime rolls around, though, Tony knows he’ll be lucky to make it to the end of the day, what with how his nose keeps running, and his throat is getting that hot, sore feeling it always gets at the beginning of a cold like this. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He’s staring bleary-eyed into a cup of tea at his desk when Pepper, his assistant, comes clicking in, a pile of papers in hand. She stops in her tracks when she looks at him. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You look awful,” she says, frowning. “You should be in bed, Tony.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tony coughs before he can answer, not doing himself any favors. “I have a few more things to finish up and then I’m out of here,” he promises, though the thought of looking at his computer screen for even another minute makes his head throb painfully. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I’m sure it can wait for next week. Or let me know if it’s something I can take off your plate,” Pepper says gently, moving towards his desk. She sets the papers down, and taps them with a bright red fingernail. “These can wait, too,” she tells him. “Seriously, you should take the rest of the day, call Steve, let him feed you soup. He seems like the soup type of guy,” she smiles. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tony looks at her. “I’m not calling Steve. Well, I have to let him know I have to cancel our dinner plans, but...<em>” </em>Tony blinks a few times, rubbing at his nose with a knuckle and then ducking off the side to sneeze once, quickly.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Bless,” Pepper says, then: “Go home, Tony, and feel better.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tony grabs a handful of tissues from the box on his desk and buries his face into them. Pepper might be right about going home early, but the last thing he needs is for Steve to see him like this. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>In the end, Tony decides to pack up his laptop, vowing to work at home over the weekend, and opts for texting Steve rather than calling; his voice was ragged enough that Steve would immediately ask what was wrong, what he could do. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em>Hey, really sorry to do this so last minute, but I kind of feel like crap and might just stay in tonight. I’ll call and get a new res for next week? </em>Tony clicks <em>send</em> and settles into the back of his car, letting Happy drive him home in blissful silence. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Steve’s response comes almost immediately. <em>Sorry you’re sick, sweetheart. I can come over after this last lecture and keep you company? Do you need anything?</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And see, this is exactly what Tony hadn’t wanted. Pepper was right about this, too. Steve is <em>definitely</em> the “soup type,” and would no doubt come over and be sweet and offer to make him soup or whatever else, but... Something about being that needy in front of Steve made Tony uneasy, like it would be asking too much or something. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>You really don’t have to, this is gross, I don’t want you to suffer on my behalf</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>I’d hardly be suffering. No one wants to be alone when they’re sick :(</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He <em>doesn’t</em> want to be alone when he feels like this, his head a mess of congestion, achy and tired and sniffling more than anything else. He means to text Steve back, some noncommittal answer about not minding it, but by the time he gets back to the penthouse, he’s exhausted. Tony changes out of his work clothes and into the most well-worn MIT sweatshirt he can find before collapsing on the couch, laptop all but forgotten as he falls almost immediately asleep. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>When he wakes up again, it’s much later, the sun low in the sky, already starting to set, and Tony remembers he never did manage to take more cold medicine before falling asleep. He puts his glasses on and peers blearily at his phone, where Steve’s been texting him off and on for the last few hours. His stomach sinks, knowing he’s probably worried at this point. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He’s crafting his response, stopping on and off to snuffle into a handful of tissues, when there’s a distinct knock on his door. Tony blinks at it in disbelief, before Steve (because it can only be Steve, really), knocks again, and Tony scrubs at his face before padding over to the door. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh good, you’re here,” Steve says, though his relief only lasts for a few seconds, before he takes in Tony’s bedraggled appearance. Between the red nose, the bedhead, and the half-lidded, watery eyes, Tony vaguely wishes the earth would open up and swallow him whole, but Steve’s face softens. “Sweetheart, you look like you feel terrible,” he says. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>There it is again: <em>sweetheart</em>. It’s one thing to read it on a screen, but it’s another thing entirely to hear Steve <em>say it</em>. His insides flip flop a few times and Tony finds himself nodding.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yeah,” he admits. “Sorry about dinner. I went to work and Pepper basically sent me home because I-” He trails off as a cough overtakes him, and looks up to find that Steve’s eyebrows are doing the concerned thing again, and it’s then that Tony notices the bags in his hands, two of them, one from the pharmacy down the street.</p>
  <p>“I got you some stuff,” Steve says. “Sounds like you could use it,” he adds with a small smile. Steve wraps a strong arm around Tony’s waist and leads him back to the couch.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You really didn’t have to come over,” Tony says. “I’m seriously probably going to fall asleep in twenty minutes, and you’ll be stuck here, nothing to do but listen to me snoring...” He trails off. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Well, we’re in luck then, because you falling asleep on me is my ideal Friday night, actually,” Steve says. “You don’t have to entertain me, you know that, right? You’re sick.” He holds out a fresh box of tissues and a container of tea for Tony. “Here, you need those. And I’m not sure I’ve ever actually seen you <em>drink</em> tea, but it’s a good sick person thing and I’m going to make you some.” Tony looks at Steve and feels his resolve weakening. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I’ve been known to drink tea on certain occasions,” Tony says, hating the nasal quality he voice has taken on.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Good. You sit back down and I’ll be right back. I have dinner, too. Soup for you, and sandwiches from the deli by my apartment, I know you like it there.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tony laughs a little, though it quickly devolves into a cough, and explains what Pepper said about Steve being the <em>soup type</em>.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Steve laughs, too. “I’m going to take that as a compliment,” he decides. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It is,” Tony agrees, settling back down onto the couch as Steve disappears into his kitchen, rummaging around for mugs and honey, and it hits him, that Steve knows exactly where those things are. He knew exactly what Tony would want when he’s sick, too. He gets that warm all over feeling he gets when Steve does something like this, something just <em>sweet</em>, and wonders how he could have ever let himself believe that Steve would think of him as <em>too much</em> for being sick. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>When he returns, two steaming mugs in hand, Tony shifts on the couch, making room. “You’re the best, you know that, right? You’re like, a unicorn boyfriend,” Tony says.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“The soup type and a unicorn boyfriend,” Steve says, “I’m learning so much about myself this evening. What exactly is a <em>unicorn boyfriend?” </em>He settles himself in nice and close to Tony on the couch, leaning over to stroke a hand through Tony’s matted curls as he tries to explain.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Like, perfect, unheard of... thoughtful and hot and...” Tony shakes his head. “Maybe this cold is going to my head,” he says, suddenly embarrassed at his rambling. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Steve smiles at him, shaking his head. “No, I think I get it,” he says, looking impossibly fond. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Good,” Tony murmurs. “Still didn’t have to come over though,” he says, because he can’t help himself. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Steve just looks at him. “I told you, I wanted to. Let me take care of you, sweetheart,” he says, his voice low and soft as he pulls Tony close to him. “This isn’t a one-way street here.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em>It isn’t a one way street</em>. It’s probably just the cold, the congestion and the lack of medicine, but Tony's throat goes tight with emotion at the words. Sure, deep down, he knew this, has known for a while that Steve Rogers isn’t going anywhere, but still. It’s nice to hear it. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tony rests his head on Steve’s chest, matching their breathing as best as he can. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says before he can change his mind. “You’re right, it’s shitty being sick alone.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I know,” Steve smiles, nuzzling his face into Tony’s hair. “I like it like this,” he decides. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“A bird’s nest?” Tony asks dubiously.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Soft, loose,” Steve shrugs and smiles at him again. “Now. We need blankets. And medicine for you, and spoons for the soup, I forgot that when I was in the kitchen. I can stay here this weekend, if you want,” he adds. “I can study here while you nap.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Tony feels himself melting as he nods his agreement. It’s a good plan, a <em>great</em> plan, really, and as Steve walks over to the kitchen in search of a spoon and napkins and the rest of his long list, Tony doesn’t even try to quiet that voice in his head, the one reminding him on a near-constant refrain that he <em>loves him</em>. Tony knows, and one day soon he’ll even tell him. </p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i'm omg-just-peachy on tumblr, come say hi! :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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